Poetry

Poetry is a mighty big room
and there is more than one door in
and out as well, though the poems
I adore end with a satisfying click,
not a loud bang. That’s me—
I am not one for a screaming, spewing,
call in the paramedics
sort of poetry. But maybe you are.
The poetry I love invites me in
as an audience of one,
although I may be—I hope I am—
sitting elbow to elbow with hundreds
of thousands of audiences of one
spread across the world. The way
some ancient poem, its writer
long dead, can be speaking
to your life right now.
The scary thing about poetry is how
it is forever changing, even as you read
or write it—you can be writing about
oranges and all of a sudden there’s your
homosexual cousin on the page
and you never even knew
she was gay until your pen let it slip.
Poetry is a mockingbird
singing back to you the song
you never knew you had sung.

(Written using a word list provided by a group of teen writers.)

15 thoughts on “Poetry”

Samantha June 15, 2016 at 9:39 am

Love this one, Pauletta. Particularly the lines

“you can be writing about
oranges and all of a sudden there’s your
homosexual cousin on the page
and you never even knew
she was gay until your pen let it slip”

made me laugh!

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debcoo June 15, 2016 at 9:42 am

Pauletta – This is delightful – a great read and oh, so true!

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melva sue June 17, 2016 at 9:43 pm

The scary thing about poetry is how
it is forever changing, even as you read
or write it—you can be writing about
oranges and all of a sudden there’s your
homosexual cousin on the page
and you never even knew
she was gay until your pen let it slip.

We often learn about things as we write, don’t we.

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